Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 20, 2010
Today, I wore mascara. For all but three minutes, it sat there, on my eyelashes, surrounded by a naked face. I was getting ready to go out. I was tired of searching through an endless pile of patterns and cut cloth just to be disappointed by how it looked on me. I was bored with playing a never ending game of bobby pin or no bobby pin? Braid or no braid? Ponytail...or no ponytail?
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
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